


Ciri and the Grave Hag

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Monster Slaying, Reunion, Short One Shot, Swordplay, grave hag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: Despite Geralt's warnings, Ciri chooses to take a contract.





	Ciri and the Grave Hag

 

Fresh salty air and a wild sea breeze filled Ciri’s lungs as she sat on the rough stone on top of the cliff overlooking the ocean. She drew her steel sword and fished out the whetstone from her pack, the act of caring for her blades helped her clear her mind and with all that had happened in the past few weeks. Each careful pass of the stone over the steel let the weight of all those memories flow from her like grains of sand, leaving her lighter. 

Only the week before, an armed contingent from Nilfgaard had hunted her down with orders to bring her by force before Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. She knew what he wanted, she wasn’t stupid. This game, this pointless belief that she was something more special than the rest of the world because of her bloodline, forced her to do things she hated - like kill honest men doing their job. Those men didn’t deserve to die, not because of her, not by her hand.

Ciri returned to the outskirts of Cintra, knowing if she was careful and stayed to the shadows, she would never be looked for. The steel sword shone in her hand, well-oiled and razor sharp. She returned it to its sheath on her back with a satisfying whisper of leather on metal and hefted the small purse on her belt. The paper inside from the notice board crinkled. 

Geralt’s warning when they saw each other weeks ago still rang in her ears. “Don’t go hunting, not unless you have to, my friends will help you from city to city if you need it. News of a ashen-haired girl hunting monsters for coin tends to spread. You might as well paint a target on your back, or worse, give yourself straight to the Emperor.”

Ciri tugged her shirt closer and shivered. Her last meal was the day before and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t find Geralt’s friend there in Cintra. Being a friend to a witcher brought its own dangers. She pulled the paper free. A disturbance near a graveyard had been reported. Family members of the dead missing. Sounded like a grave hag if Ciri had ever heard one. 

She shielded her eyes against the noonday sun and looked back along the long empty road skirting the coastline. Attre wasn’t too far, if she hurried, she could lure the grave hag out from its lair and slay it well before dark and have enough time to collect the bounty and find a decent place to sleep that night.

The burial site wasn’t hard to find. A small church well outside the small town nested in a copse of tall pines. Next to it, the ash and remains of the funeral pyre built to burn the body had toppled into a splintered pile of blackened sticks. A fresh mound of turned earth marked where the bones had been buried, although Ciri doubted they were still there. Grave hags like to collect bones to decorate their lairs and sometimes themselves. 

The stink of burnt flesh, ash, and decay filled the air, along with the faintest hint of oily spoiled fish paired with cadaverine. Ciri followed the stink back into the shade of the forest canopy, silver sword held at the ready. The hag was here. It would attack her if it felt threatened, Ciri was sure of it.

The trail led Ciri to a hut made of sticks and branches with a sagging peat roof. It looked as if it would crumble with the slightest touch. Inside the door she spotted a cauldron over a pile of glowing coals. Peeking over the cauldron’s edge, the toes of what was left of a very human foot. Ciri gagged and pressed her sleeve to her nose and mouth.

“Come out you nasty thing. Let’s get this over with.” Ciri taunted.

Something shuffled at the corner of her sight. She pivoted smoothy on one foot to face the monster. The grave hag stooped, her unnatural white eyes piercing into Ciri while her overly long arms flexed sharpened claws. A fresh ribcage complete with red stringy muscles still attached was bound to the hag’s back. 

“Nasty? You, the one come to kill me, calls me nasty?” Without warning, the hag shot out her venomous whiplike tongue.

Ciri jumped aside, her reflexes from training making her quick and nimble. She swept her sword up and around with the intent to sever the tongue from the hag’s body but missed by a fraction. “I dare you try that again!” She yelled. With the tongue gone, the hag’s most deadly attack would be neutralized.

Instead, the hag charged forward, unnaturally long arms poised to strike. Ciri pirouetted, bringing the sword slicing down and across the hags chest, sending it staggering back a few steps. Ciri continued to advance, striking several more times on the monster’s neck and shoulders, before dodging back to avoid the whipping venomous tongue again.

Ciri whirled her blade in a tight circle around her, the silver singing through the air. “Die and be done with it.” 

“Never.” The hag shook her head. She moved much slower now. Her chest heaved with each breath. The slashes across her shoulders and breasts wept dark viscous blood. She couldn’t last much longer. 

One of Vesemir’s teachings echoed through Ciri’s mind,  _ a desperate monster is a dangerous monster.  _ She kept alert, watching for the hag to twitch, waiting for the next strike. The hag shifted on the balls of her long gnarled feet, setting Ciri in motion. Her silver blade cut upwards through the air,  severing the hag’s whip-like green tongue before it could pierce her exposed neck.

On the down stroke, Ciri caught the hag precisely in the shoulder joint, severing the arm. The hag screamed and lurched forward, blindly raking the air with her remaining arm. Ciri kicked her in the chest sending her tumbling backwards to the ground. 

The hag lay splayed out panting on the ground, eyes wide and darting from Ciri’s face to the blade in her hand. Another teaching surfaced, this time one of Geralt’s,  _ never prolong suffering.  _ With a smooth stroke, Ciri brought down the blade and severed the grave hag’s head.

Contract complete, Ciri returned to Attra with the grave hag’s head speared on a hook. She took care to cover her distinct hair before entering the tavern to collect her coin. A thin shouldered serving girl shrieked and dropped her tray when she caught sight of the head. 

Ciri slapped the contract on the bar and locked eyes with the lanky haired man polishing a pile of spoons. “I’ve come to collect.”

“Get that thing out of here.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “We’ll talk outside.”

Outside, Ciri dropped the head at his feet. “Contract’s for two hundred Cintran ducats.”

The man wiped his nose on his sleeve and avoided meeting Ciri’s eyes. “You’ll get fifty.” 

Ciri held the contract so he could see it. “I’m not leaving until you pay me what’s promised.”

The man rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. You’ll take fifty and leave.”

Ciri touched the small dagger on her hip, debating if it would be worth escalating the situation or not. She had to remain forgettable. Fifty would be enough to eat. Before she could decide the lanky haired man’s eyes went wide and his gaze locked on something behind her.

“Give her what she’s due, or deal with me.” A familiar gruff voice said. Geralt. 

The man paled and quickly fished out the coin from his purse before retreating back into the tavern.

“I thought I told you not to take any contracts.” Geralt wrapped Ciri in his arms. 

“And I thought you were going to stay in Toussaint.” She returned his embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
